


sending all my love (along the wire)

by Ourladyofresurrection



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej - Freeform, handjobs, not sponsored by Zoom, quarantine is hard, ryan bergara - Freeform, shane madej - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23876323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ourladyofresurrection/pseuds/Ourladyofresurrection
Summary: “Jesus, dude, I don’t know what that was, I’m sorry.”Shane didn’t laugh, but he held a slight smile on his lips as he spoke. “I’m no expert, but I think that’s what they call the obligatory quarantine breakdown. S’been all over Twitter.”Ryan huffed out a laugh, face still burning as he wiped tacky tear tracks off his cheeks, knuckles grazing the stubble that had accumulated there over the past month.“Shut up, Shane.”Quarantine is hard. Some things are harder. It's nice to lend your friend a helping hand.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 25
Kudos: 338





	sending all my love (along the wire)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song [Faithfully](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OMD8hBsA-RI) by Journey.

Quarantine was  _ hard. _

Sure, the idea of spending _any_ amount of time locked indoors never appealed to Ryan— he didn’t like anything impeding on his routine, on that natural, bustling lifestyle he’d grown accustomed to over the years. But then two weeks turned to three, turned to four, and Ryan had stopped keeping track after day thirty. For all he knew, it could have been ten _years_.

It certainly  _ felt _like it.

And Ryan didn’t want to be one of those celebrity shit-heads crying in his leased apartment over a few weeks in isolation when there were people— _thousands_ of people who were way worse off than him, he really didn’t.  But _god_ , it was hard, and over the past week, that rising tension had solidified like cement in his shoulders, arching into one big crescendo, Ryan’s anxiety tinny and shrill as it threatened to snap above his head.  The only thing keeping him semi-sane was the near-constant stream of video calls with Shane, racking up atrocious amounts of hours on Zoom or Facetime. Sure enough, there Shane was in front of him yet again, humming a soft tune under his breath as he frowned at his monitor.

Ryan couldn’t help it— he propped his cheek against his hand and let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

Shane’s eyes flickered to the phone screen, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he typed up something for Watcher on the computer, long fingers flying away on the keyboard, soft ' _clack, clack, clack_ ,'  of the plastic keys almost calming amidst all the chaos.

“You alright there, Bergara?”

“Yeah,” he said, turning a bit pink, leaning into his palm’s hold in some effort to conceal the concern he so blatantly announced to Shane. 

Okay, they’d been talking almost non-stop the past few weeks, but they had hardly mentioned the quarantine besides the occasional passing, _“this sucks, man.”_ And they _certainly_ hadn’t gotten _serious_ about it. Shane wasn’t exactly a _feelings_ kind of guy. Ryan knew that. Sure, the big guy was sweet and had his occasional moments of tenderness, but he never divulged any kind of personal stresses to Ryan, try as he might to coax them out of him. Like Shane said— he didn’t confide in those he truly cared about, and maybe that should reassure Ryan, because that had to mean that he was an important person in Shane’s life, but sometimes he couldn’t help but feel...guilty about it. Like Shane was constantly helping him with his problems and Ryan never offered anything in return. And it made moments like these, when he was pale-faced and running on live-wire, all the more difficult, all the more _embarrassing._

He knew Shane wouldn’t make fun of him for it. Sure, they had their bits and razzed each other off-camera just as much as they did on, but Shane could always tell when Ryan was being serious and could match that energy wordlessly without much more than a look.  Ryan should have known by now that Shane _also_ had a scarily accurate ability to intuit Ryan’s emotions— _especially_ fear.

“Come on, don’t lie to me,” he said, leaning back in his chair and facing the phone screen. “You’ve got that...constipated look on your face.”

Ryan’s mouth twitched into a small smile against the skin of his palm, “Maybe I am,” he said faux-defensively, earning a soft, surprised laugh from Shane.

“Well, I can’t help you with that,” he huffed, eyes crinkling at the seams, a disbelieving grin etched across the pixels of the screen. “That’s probably your body’s way of recovering from all the Taco Bell you ate before quarantine.”

“Nature is healing, my bowels are repairing themselves. We are the virus,” Ryan wheezed.  _God_ ,  it was all so  _stupid_. But didn’t it feel nice to laugh with Shane like this?

The comment sent Shane into another fit of hysterics, near-silent over the speaker as he folded over his knees, chest heaving as soft laughter wracked his body. Ryan admired the familiar sight, its normalcy abating the worry tugging at his gut for a brief moment. But by the time Shane had risen like a marionette drawn up by its strings, the same pensive frown had returned to Ryan’s face.

“Seriously, man,” Shane said, so damn  _sincere_ it made Ryan’s chest ache. “What’s up?”

Ryan sighed, breath rattling in his throat as he dug the bone of his knuckles into his lip, trying to find the _words_ , or rather, trying to find the strength to say them without bursting into tears.  God, the last thing he wanted to do was start sobbing over fucking _Zoom_.  He could just make up some excuse— say he _was_ constipated after all. Hell, _anything_ would be less embarrassing to admit that his minor freak-out was over having to spend a few weeks at home. He’d gone into some of the most haunted places in the world and this was going to be the straw to break the camel’s back?  But something about Shane’s gently imploring gaze and larger-than-life presence over the screen coaxed the truth out of him. As much as he’d never admit it, Shane genuinely _was_ a source of comfort for him— not just on _Unsolved_ but in nearly every aspect of his life.

It was kind of hard to be scared with Shane around, and yet here he was, trembling like a baby behind his phone screen, terrified to break past that fragile bound and draw the lines of his fear in the sand.

Ryan pressed on anyways.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly, trying to keep his voice in check as it threatened to crack. “Just...quarantine, man.”

“Yeah,” Shane murmured, amusement rampant in his voice at Ryan’s response, “quarantine, _man._ Crazy times out there— I went out to get toilet paper the other day and nearly had to fight off some middle-aged lady for it,” he shook his head. “At this rate, the idea of just never leaving my house is kind of growing on me.”

_ Never leaving the house. _

“I’ll be one of those sick ass hermits like Luke in _The Last Jedi._ I’ll grow the full beard and everything and then I’ll really look like Hozier.”

_ Ever. Shane never leaving the house. Months, years, decades of no sleepovers at horrifically haunted places, no more banter between desks during work days, no more lunch breaks at Chipotle or late-night stops at Portillo’s after long shoots. _

“Wasteland, baby!” Shane grinned, sticking his tongue out and making shaka gestures as he leaned back in his chair. “Hey, Ryan, do you think I could pull off the long hair?”

Ryan took a deep breath, and burst into tears.

“Woah, woah,” he barely heard Shane’s voice past his own choked-off sobs. “Hey, talk to me.”

But that only made Ryan cry _harder_ , fully leaning into his hands now, face hot and drawn as he muffled his cries against his own palm. _God, this was so embarrassing._ Shane said nothing for a solid minute, letting him get it all out, but Ryan knew his eyes remained glued to his trembling form. It made Ryan feel impossibly transparent, it made him feel _ vulnerable,_ and yet he didn’t want it to _stop_.Ryan finally tore his gaze back up to the screen, Shane was looking at him with those soft eyes again— the kind reserved for after particularly gruelling investigations on  _Unsolved_ when Ryan was wide-eyed and high-strung and that brief span of time right after Ryan and Helen’s break up.

“Jesus, dude, I don’t know what that was, I’m sorry.”

Shane didn’t laugh, but he held a slight smile on his lips as he spoke. “I’m no expert, but I think that’s what they call the obligatory quarantine breakdown. S’been all over Twitter.”

Ryan huffed out a laugh, face still burning as he wiped tacky tear tracks off his cheeks, knuckles grazing the stubble that had accumulated there over the past month.

“Shut up, Shane.” 

“Hey, at least you didn’t cut your own bangs,” he said softly, gaze thoughtful as it drifted to Ryan’s productless hair. “Though you could use a trim,” he teased.

Ryan knew that if he were there with him right now, he’d brush one of those long fingers across his forehead, mussing up his curls, and the thought made him shiver.  _ When was the last time he’d been touched?  _

“You’re such a dick,” Ryan muttered, but felt himself mirroring Shane’s quiet ease.

Sometimes he forgot just how well Shane knew him, just how easily he could take him apart and put him back together again. It was moments like this when he asked himself how he could  _ ever _ possibly forget. He didn’t think he wanted to.

“Real talk, Bergara: tell me what’s on your mind.”

It was a request— almost an order. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to sound like that, but Ryan thought he’d do anything Shane said if he looked at him that way. The thought should have _scared_ him, and maybe if Ryan _wanted_ less, he would be able to register that nagging fear in his mind.

But all he could fathom was the simple want for Shane to be closer in any way he could, whatever that meant.

“What is this,” he sniffled, “Spooky Small Talk? I do the interviewing, this isn’t how this works.”

Shane rolled his eyes, “Ryan, this isn’t one of your little spooky spectre shows. This is about _you._ "

_ This is about you, _ the words rung in Ryan’s ears, and it ignited a twinge of guilt— of embarrassment. Ryan was in the spotlight, Shane looking at him like he was dissecting him apart before his eyes, and Ryan felt _seen_.

But he also felt safe. He always did with Shane.

“Now tell me what’s wrong.”

Ryan sighed, “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

Shane stared back, pursing his lips in that irritating, nonchalant way he did whenever Ryan suggested ghosts might be real, giving a firm shake of his head.

"Nope."

“Okay fine,” Ryan muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, man. Just...things have been hard, lately.”

“Don’t _man_ ,  me. Drop the toxic masculinity for a sec and tell me what’s really on your mind.”

The retort was quiet, but scathing nonetheless, and it left Ryan shuddering. 

“Toxic masculinity? I’m not—“

Shane glared at him.

“Okay, Jesus,” he looked off to the side, not bearing to meet Shane’s gaze, imploring and expectant. He thought he might petrify and divulge _everything_ like a Medusa victim if he did. “I just...I’m worried, okay?”

“Okay,” Shane said slowly, “worried about what?”

“God, Shane, I don’t know— _everything_." he gestured wildly, trying to encompass the weight of the world with his hands. 

“There’s gotta be something in specific. Name one thing.”

“Well, Watcher, for one. Shane, we just started our own company— this is the time we need to be on our A-game and suddenly the entire world is locked down.”

“Ryan, the engagement is great right now, you know that! For a barely year-old company in the middle of a pandemic, we’re pretty damn okay.”

“Sure, we’re in the clear for now, but you know how this stuff works, Shane! The entire thing could fall apart at any second. What if we made a huge mistake?”

“And what was the alternative? Stay at Buzzfeed and get laid off there instead?”

“Well, at least we would have gotten _severance_ there!” Ryan said a little hysterically, mind winding itself into that tight little cluster of fear. “If this all goes under, we lose fucking  _ tens of thousands of dollar _ _s,_ Shane, and  _Unsolved_ alone won’t pay the bills!”

“Then we file for bankruptcy.”

_ ” What?” _

“If all this goes under like you’re worried it might, then we march over to the bank and we _figure it out._ Ryan, there’s hundreds of thousands of perfectly successful companies that have filed for bankruptcy several times— that’s part of the risk, you heard what Steven said.”

“Well, that’s not fucking  _ reassuring, _ Shane,” he admonished him, hands once again tangled in his hair, tugging at the strands.

“Well, what do you want me to say— that we’re _not_ going to have to declare bankruptcy?”

“Yes! That's exactly what I want you to say!”

“Ryan, my job isn’t to lie to you to make you feel better, my job is to be honest with you as business partners and as friends. You know that,” Shane scolded him, but there was warmth in his voice.

“I know,” he muttered. “God, do you have to be so _logical_ all the time?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he said, stretching in his seat, and Ryan watched his long limbs unfold, feeling his own rigid muscles ache in sympathy. He couldn’t remember the last time he stretched.

“Dick,” Ryan huffed, but a smile crept its way up his face.

“You wound me, Bergara,” his coworker said, throwing a hand over his chest. 

Ryan couldn’t help the giggle that tumbled out of his mouth at the bit— as much as Shane had ways of surprising him, Ryan thinks that maybe he cherishes the familiarity most of all.

“God, Shane, what are we gonna do?” he groaned, fingers digging into the ball of his ankle, where his foot sat tucked beneath his leg. 

“We’re going to ride it out and see where it takes us. That’s all we can do,” Shane said calmly. “But for the meantime—“ he leaned forward in his chair, cogs giving a high-pitched squeak at the movement. " _Breathe,_ Ryan.”

Ryan’s eyes widened a bit at the demand. Sure, Shane did it occasionally when they were on location, but he always assumed it was the natural thing to do. It wasn’t good for anyone for Ryan to be passed out during a scheduled shoot, but this...this was different.  This was different because Ryan was in his house that was definitively not haunted, and they were miles away, and Shane was looking at him with those fucking _eyes_ and Ryan felt impossibly _warm_ all over.  Not daring to tear his gaze away from the screen, Ryan brought his hands up to his neck, tilting his head experimentally and pushing his chest out as he stretched the muscles of his back. His fingertips dug into the tight skin of his shoulders and he groaned a little at the relief, rolling them slowly.

“That’s it,” Shane almost _cooed_ over the speaker. “Feel better?”

Ryan blushed at the words. Maybe it was the saccharine tone Shane’s voice had taken on, slow and sickeningly sweet, like someone steadying a skittish horse or a parent soothing a fearful child. Even eye-to-eye, Shane seemed to be looking  down  at him— force of habit, probably. But it did nothing to stop the embarrassed twinge in Ryan’s stomach. Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he dragged his eyes back to the screen and saw that Shane was watching him expectantly, and it was only then that Ryan nodded slowly, almost shyly.

“Yeah,” he said, voice barely above a whisper as he propped his heated face against his palm.

“See, Ryan?” he sighed, running a hand along his beard, the sound making soft, soothing noises through the microphone as his hand inched up to thread through his hair. “You get so _worked up,_ and freak yourself out. Sometimes, you just gotta _release_ some of that tension.Just let it all go, Ry.”

The patronizing tone did nothing to help Ryan’s growing blush, if anything, it only added fuel to the fire, the chastening words making Ryan feel the same way as when Shane tried to debunk his ghost theories. Only, this time, Ryan didn’t argue.

_ ”Just let it all go, Ry _ _,"_ he could faintly hear over the steady thumping of his own heart in his ears. Something hot and shameful writhed inside Ryan, clawing at his throat and curling in the base of his gut.  He should just hang up now. It would be easy enough— he could tell him he was going to hit the shower or take a nap and sure, Shane would know something was up, but he would be none the wiser about the fact that, that Ryan, that he—

Apparently, quarantine wasn’t the only thing that was painfully  _hard._

This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened; Ryan and Shane had begun interning at Buzzfeed around the same time. Ryan wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Shane was an _attractive_ guy, but it manifested in little more than the occasional lingering stare across their shared desk or walking the guy out so he’d have an excuse to bump shoulders.  Little things like that, and that’s how it was— little touches and stolen glances and the ever-present wonder of what would happen if Ryan toed the line. But then Brent had quit _Unsolved_ and Ryan was asking Shane to join, and before he knew it, they were not only coworkers, but now co- _hosts_ , and their budding acquaintanceship had veered into the closest relationship of Ryan’s career and possibly- _life._

And by then, it was impossible for Ryan to bring it up, because how do you put that much on the line just to answer some stupidly persistent  _’what if?’_ question nagging at your mind?  So, Ryan chose to ignore it. He made a point of avoiding careless touches that would only lead to him wanting more, and every time he felt that overwhelming urge to say something, anything about that feverish, relentless question taking on a talismanic path in his mind, he just redirected it with every exasperated:

_ Shut up, Shane. _

He remembered one of their first investigations during the early seasons of Unsolved when they’d been tucked inside that strange house in New Orleans, tipsy and exhilarated by the nightlife and the strangeness of it all as they navigated this odd dynamic buzzing between the two of them, unspoken.

_“Our hands just touched. That was weird. Let’s never do that again.”_ Ryan had said, wiping his palms on the legs of his jeans. 

And later that night, sprawled across the mattress opposite to his in that sketchy hotel room on Bourbon Street, neon lights paling as they danced across the thin windows, Shane had said:

_ ”It wasn’t that weird.” _

And Ryan had just pretended to be asleep, rolling over to face the wall, unable to stop the thoughts that tugged at his mind. 

_The hand touch wasn’t weird, he wanted to say, what’s weird is that it felt a little too right and like it lingered a little too long and I thought if you kept your hand there one more minute that I might not be able to bring myself to let go. And that scares me, Shane, because I shouldn’t want to kiss you by candlelight when we join hands for a séance. I shouldn’t want to back you up against those decrepit walls and tug you down by that stupid hair and make you shut up for once, because you drive me insane in all the best ways and I don’t know how to handle it._

Biting his tongue was easier than saying all of that. Sometimes Ryan felt like it might be harder.

Like now, with Shane melting him under that hooded gaze, soft and sleepy over the phone screen, humming a soft tune under his breath, long fingers tapping a nonsensical beat on the table beside him. 

_Just keep your mouth shut, Bergara,_ he told himself. _This won’t end up well for anyone. _

He remembered something Shane had said in their podcast about relationships. How the worst possible thing he could imagine would be to break up with someone and be so haunted by their image that you couldn’t even bear to look them in the eye, because you could never shake that sense of _wanting_.

_ Say what you want about ghosts, Shane, but I’ve seen people fade right out of lives like it was nothing, and I don’t want that happening to us. _

There it was again— that tight, winding fear, coiled up in his bones and wreaking havoc on Ryan’s mind. And then Shane’s voice, gentle and calm, like an anchor holding him down in a stormy sea, keeping him tethered.

_ ”Just let it all go, Ry.” _

_ Just let it all go. _

Ryan’s eyes dipped down to Shane’s collarbone, where his shirt was slightly unbuttoned, line of his clavicles just barely visible, column of his neck bared as he looked into the screen. He swallowed, biting his lip.

“Ryan?”

_ "Just let it all go, Ry." _

Ryan dragged his eyes up to meet his, eyes pleading and desperate, voice doing nothing to conceal that overwhelming  _need_ crashing over him.

_ ”Shane." _

“Ry,” he said, voice strained and indecipherable. It would almost be enough to sending Ryan reeling and hanging up the phone, but his next words swept the thought away.

Shane licked his lips, voice quiet, “...Are your roommates home?”

Ryan’s heart wormed its way into his throat at the question, “No,” he choked out. “Uh. They’re out.”

Shane nodded slowly, and Ryan was thinking of what to say when he heard another command:

“Sit back.”

Ryan did as he was told, feeling strangely obedient, hands tucked almost submissively in his lap, sweater sleeves of his pink hoodie tugged past his palms. He looked ridiculously small in the corner of the screen.

He _felt_ ridiculously small.

Shane was looking into the camera, looking contemplative and focused— as if he was psyching himself up for something. Ryan felt that same creeping anticipation that he always felt right before he walked into a haunted location, that dizzying cocktail of emotions: a little scared, a little excited, a little hard.

“Shane?” he said nervously, wringing his hands.

“What are you thinking about, Ryan?” he said, derailing Ryan’s train of thought entirely.

Ryan was no brain expert, (a fact that had become universally evident after that _‘Bella in the Wych Elm’_ case), but he didn’t think that brains could short circuit. But if they could— wires sparking themselves to nonsense, lost in that low hum of electricity— that’s what had happened in Ryan’s own head.  It was just so out of left field, and his foggy mind raced to draw conclusions, or produce some acceptable answer.

_ What am I thinking about? God, Shane, you can’t know that. I can’t tell you that, and I can’t tell you that I can’t tell you because then you’ll know— _

“You,” Ryan’s traitorous mouth blurted out. “Thinking about...thinking about you.”

Shane seemed surprised by the admission, and for a moment they stared at each other through the screen, wide-eyes facing off in stalemate that would be almost comical under any other circumstances. Circumstances where they weren’t in the middle of a pandemic and Ryan _wasn’t_ _ hard _ and Shane wasn’t looking at him like he might eat him alive.

“What do you think about?” he said slowly, as if trying to gather the courage to barrel forward or reel himself in. Ryan didn’t know which one it was. From the look on Shane’s face, he didn’t seem to know either.

Ryan swallowed thickly, feeling like a convict under interrogation. He could practically feel that blinding light burning hot against the nape of his neck, see all his sins carved out along the shadows of the wall. Feel himself go lax and dangerously honest under Shane’s steely gaze, guilt slanting in along his ribcage, worming its way around his writhing heart.

“I think...I think about being on set. Exploring haunted places— sleeping on those shitty concrete floors. Uh, Tourist Trapped. Going to those cash-grabs and blowing money.”

_ You like those moments best because they’re the moments you get Shane alone,  _ his brain supplied.  _You like those moments best because sometimes, in those haunted locations, when Shane was fast asleep, moon poring down on his face, you would move closer to him._ _ And then you press your nose to his collarbone and blame it on the sleeping bag even though they were separate at the beginning of the night and you both knew that— you both know, but nobody mentions it, and you should stop, you really should stop because every little touch feeds that possessive, insatiable creature inside you longing for more.  _ _ But you don’t and maybe you can’t, or maybe it’s better you don’t, because that longing has consumed your being and etched itself into your life and you’ve become inextricably tied to this person and this dangerous, dangerous desire. And it’s terrible, isn’t it? But it’s so, so good. _

_ It could be so good. _

_ And so you let his bones hold you and you breathe unto him, breathe into him and make yourself a little hole inside his ribcage and call it home. And you’ll shiver and blame it on the cold, but you both know. You know. And you’ll lay there and pretend, for just one night that you are his and he is yours _

“Is that all?” Shane’s voice emerged through the nonsensical prattling of his mind.

_Yes,_ Ryan meant to say,  _yes, that’s all and I really should be going, and my stomach hurts and maybe we should be coworkers, maybe we should be friends. What do you say, Shane? Friends doesn’t sound so bad, and it sounds a hell of a lot better than strangers._

“No,” was what came out instead, and it was tinny and fearful, and above all, it was desperate. It longed to be acknowledged, and was no longer waiting for permission. 

“I think about...I think about your stupid jokes and exhausting skepticism, and those moments early in the morning when you look at me over your coffee cup and your eyes are still droopy and you look kind of stoned. I think about your cologne when you’re pressed up against me in long car rides to shoots, and your dumb fucking haircut, man, and it’s just the _worst_ , but I love it and I want to touch it and it drives me insane.”

The words tumbled out of Ryan’s mouth ceaselessly, like the old saying about a dam unleashed. Shane was eerily quiet, but Ryan couldn’t even process it, because his mouth was still spilling confessions in litanies and Ryan was powerless to stop it.

_"You_ drive me insane, and I want you to touch me, and I want you with me, and god, Shane, I miss you so _much.”_

Shane looked at him like he was dying and then uttered those familiar words, _“_ _ Oh Ryan.” _

He took one look at Ryan’s blown-out pupils and desperation written across his face, and seemed to decide that they had plenty of time for pleasantries later.

“Are you hard?”

It was jarringly forward, but maybe just what Ryan needed to hear. Was _waiting_ to hear.

“Yes.”

Shane exhaled— shaky and slow, like he was trying to calm himself. He shifted again in his seat, and Ryan wondered if  _ he _ was hard too. If this affected him too.

“Touch yourself,” he said, a little breathless, but firm nonetheless, and Ryan blushed at the order, hands remaining tucked and unmoving in his lap. “You can...you can touch yourself, if you want.”

The idea that Shane thought he should give him _permission_ to do that sent a full-body shiver through Ryan, an aching heat curling inside of him.

“Can you...can you tell me what to do?” Ryan said softly. “Please?”

Shane looked at him, and a quiet exchange of trust took place. Ryan entrusting Shane to take care of him, and Shane entrusting that Ryan would obey. Because Ryan wanted to be good for Shane. Wanted that more than anything.

“Okay,” he said, locking eyes with Ryan through the screen. “I want you to touch yourself through your jeans.”

Ryan’s breathed hitched, staggering in his lungs before making a shaky exhale through his nose, tumbling out of his mouth as his lips parted. They were really doing this.

Ryan shifted, rolling his sleeve up a little before letting his hand slip further into his lap, fingers running across the line of his zipper, teeth of it catching along the sensitive pads of his fingertips, sending a jolt of electricity through his body.  Ryan felt like he was a live-wire, sparking and ready to catch aflame at any slight movement. Every touch felt magnified— so impossibly _close_ that he couldn’t help but sigh as his palm skirted smooth circles around the front of his jeans, fingers curling around the slight bulge, running across the rips in the fabric near the inside of his thigh.

“You’re wearing those jeans I like, aren’t you?” Shane’s voice crackled over the phone lowly.

Ryan plucked at the stray black threads as he drew his eyes back to the screen. Awhile ago, when Ryan had first bought them, he’d shown up to Watcher wearing them, a nervous smile on his face. He’d been trying to update his wardrobe and find something other than shorts to wear, but he hadn’t worn jeans that tight since junior year of highschool.  He couldn’t help but feel self conscious.

_“Nice jeans,”_ Shane had told him, eyes immediately zeroing in on the exposed stretch of knee peeking through the fabric.

Ryan had blushed at the attention, chalking it up to simple admiration, even as his eyes lingered throughout the day, even when his co-host seemed a little more distracted the days he wore them. Correlation not causation, right?  Ryan would be lying if he said he didn’t make the effort of wearing then more after that observation. They were nice jeans, and easy enough to excuse as being behind on laundry or crunched for time.  But now, as Shane’s eyes trailed down his thighs hungrily, lids heavy over darkened pupils, Ryan realized he wasn’t imagining it all along.

_Oh._

Feeling emboldened, he dragged the heel of his hand over his erection, licking his lips. “You like them?” he said, voice softer than he ever thought possible. “I wore them just for you.”

Shane let out a painful-sounding breath that appeared to be more _punched_ out of him than anything, folding over slightly in his chair, as if he’d just been socked in the stomach.

_ " _ _ Ryan," _ he said incredulously, and he felt a glimmer of pride.

“Ryan, I—“ he said, voice strained as he shifted in his seat. “What...what do you want...from me. If I was there right now—“ he took a shuddering breath. “What would you want me to do to you?”

_"Anything,"_ he said breathlessly. “I...I trust you Shane.”

His companion seemed floored by the quiet admission, and that was all it took to spur him into taking control. “Alright, Ry,” he said softly, confidence increasingly evident and comforting in his voice. “I want you to pull your zipper down. Get out of those jeans.”

“I— I thought you liked them,” Ryan started, immediately cutting his objections off as Shane gave him a pointed look, the message clear:

_Obey._

“ I do like them,” Shane said calmly as Ryan worked on the button, the smooth slide of his zipper making a low whine over the mic as he shuffled them to his knees. “That’s why I don’t want them getting ruined.” 

His eyes trailed down Ryan’s bare legs as he wrangled them out of the fabric. “Jesus, Ryan, those are tight. How do you even manage to walk in them?”

“Are we really gonna talk about my jeans right now?” he said, voice verging on a whine, resolve crumbling as his cock gave a fervent twitch.

“No...no, I guess not,” Shane swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat in a way that sent a curious urge through Ryan. 

His mind wandered— wonderingwhat it would be like to give into temptation and take a bite— run the line of his teeth over the sensitive skin and leave bruises in its wake as his lips sucked patterns all the way under his jaw.  His companion’s voice once again interrupted his thoughts. Ryan shivered as the cool air hit his thighs, dying to bury his hands between them, where the skin was warm and aching lowly, but he sat, dilated eyes trained on the screen as he awaited Shane’s instructions.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” he said gruffly, voice the picture of calm, even as his own eyebrows drew slowly together, palming himself lazily through the tented fabric of his chinos.

Ryan obeyed the order, hands resting on either side of his knees, running slowly over the skin. His eyes zeroed in on the zipper of Shane’s pants, angled from the steady weight of his erection straining against the thin material. His mouth watered and he thought he could maybe come like this— listening to Shane’s low grunts and satisfied breaths as he worked himself up over his clothes, face painted with determination.  He thought maybe he’d want to try that sometime when this wasn’t so knew and daunting and when he didn’t fear speaking up in the event that this all might come crashing down around them. 

_ Was this going to happen again? _

He didn’t have time to come to a conclusion before Shane was running the heel of his hand along the stiffening line of his cock, voice gravelly as he spoke.

“You wanna know what I would do if I was right there, with you?”

Ryan let out a small, shaky breath, hands twitching where they made restless circles over the bone of his calves.

“Yes.”

Shane arched his palm off his erection, running a long, slender finger over the seam of the zipper, shuddering slightly at the motion. 

“If I was there with you, I’d yank those tight jeans down to your ankles and take you right there,” he said, voice gravelly and low in a way Ryan wasn’t used to hearing.

It was an almost animalistic growl, so different from Shane’s usual playful cadence that if not for the filthy words being divulged over the speaker, he may have moaned at just that sound alone.  The dirty talk just made the sensation even more visceral, a staggering groan punched out of him, fingers twitching restlessly, aching to bring themselves to the place he needed attention the most.

“Maybe I’d pin you against the wall or in the shower...I know you’re into that,” he said, voice teasing and borderline degrading as he stroked himself lazily, eyes never leaving Ryan’s for a second, burning through him like the whiskey they so resembled.

Ryan was drunk off it.

_” Please,_ _”_ he moaned, and he wasn’t even sure what he was asking for— all coherent thoughts had left his mind the minute Shane had expressed desire to fuck him against the wall.

_God,_ inside the shower too. Ryan knew how he felt about shower sex— that it was dangerous or unnecessarily risky. It was one of Shane’s many idiosyncrasies, right up there with his paranoid fear of heroin needles.  To think that he would even _consider_ doing something like that just because Ryan liked it— the fact he _remembered_ made it all the more intimate. This wasn’t just baseless dirty talk.

Ryan ignored the way he shivered at the thought.

“Would you like that, Ry? Go on, touch yourself.”

The casual command only stoked the fire sparking in Ryan’s belly, skin feverish and taut around his bones, a dizzying cocktail of arousal and intrigue coursing through his veins. Slowly, shakily, his hand crept up his thigh, tentatively cupping the bulge straining against his boxers before enveloping it fully, sighing in relief as it relieved some of the pressure.

“That’s it, Ryan. Feel good?” Shane murmured as he spread his own legs, the soft metallic whine of his zipper resonating over the microphone, followed by the slow shuffle of his pants slipping down his slender legs and the repeated squeak of the desk chair as he shifted, hand rubbing over the thin material of his boxers.

“Y-Yeah,” he choked out.

Ryan was perfectly content just like this— dragging the warm flat of his palm over his cock, listening to the soft sounds of pleasure on the other end of the line. 

But then Shane said, “You wanna take your boxers off?” and Ryan Bergara was a dead man.

Almost tripping over his own legs, he shoved his underwear down the pass of his thighs, landing unceremoniously at his ankles, where his pants were still snared around his foot. He braced himself against the arm rest, paying no mind to Shane’s quiet chuckles or the flush of his own cheeks as his erection sprung free, hitting his stomach with a small sound.

“Oh my _god,_ Ryan,” Shane laughed softly, and if Ryan weren’t so turned on, he might have had the gall to be embarrassed. 

His amusement didn’t linger however, slipping back into that domineering role like he was meant for it, hand creeping down to slip off his own boxers. Ryan gaped at the sight, breath halting in his throat.

_ Jesus Christ. _

Not that Ryan frequently thought about his coworker’s dick, but if someone had come up to him and asked how big he thought it might be, Ryan— after several minutes of severe scrutinization, would have concluded that it was probably proportional to his size. Big head, big legs, and yeah— probably a big dick.  But no amount of speculation could have prepared him for the sight he was met with. Even through the slightly pixelated screen, Ryan could see the slight curve of his cock as it pressed up against the soft skin of his stomach, red and leaking slightly at the tip, a vein running along the underside, Shane’s long finger lazily stroking it as he reclined in his seat.

_ “Oh my god,”  _ he muttered, mouth watering instinctively, and okay, what the fuck— “You’re  _ big.” _

Shane chuckled softly, a blush creeping up his cheeks, spreading across the bridge of his nose in faint swipes of pink. He seemed almost shy, reminding Ryan that deep down, he was still the Shane he knew and loved.

It filled Ryan with a sense of warmth, as well as a growing desire tugging at the pit of his gut.

_ Okay, so that was new. _

“Wanna get my mouth around you,” he said, licking his lips before he even really knew what he was saying.

The effect was instant, Shane keening in his chair, a surprised little moan torn from his chest. _“_ _ Jesus _ _,_ Ry.”

“I would, you know,” he insisted, hand smoothing down his length teasingly, giving in and giving it a slight tug. “I’d get down on my knees,” he swallowed, “and I’d take you all. And my voice would be shot for the rest of the week, but it’d be worth it.”

Shane’s breath stuttered in his throat, cock jerking in his grip as he squeezed tightly around the base. Ryan felt a rush of pride that his words were having that much of an effect on him that he had to slow down.

Ryan reached up, licking his palm, dragging the flat of his tongue along the lines, eyes never once leaving the screen, Shane watching wordlessly as he wrapped his damp hand around his cock, making a tight fist as he pushed it past the crest of the head.

“God, you’re perfect,” he heard him whisper over the speaker, and it only egged him on, blush high on his cheeks and spreading quickly down his chest.

“Your hands are so big,” he said breathlessly watching them drag over Shane’s dick, veiny and large, tendons flexing as he angled his wrist between his narrow hips. “Want them on me. Want them _in_ me.”

He all but whined, canting his hips up, nearly slipping out of the chair. “Want you so bad, Shane.”

The guttural sound that emerged from the other line made the candid statement more than worth it. 

“I know, baby. Me too,” he said, and Ryan  *preened.*  Sure, Shane had called him that all the time, but hearing it in this context...it changed everything.

_“Don’t call me baby,”_ he remembered saying at some point. How foolish had he been in doing that when all that time he could have had _this._

Ryan could get used to that— the low _baby_ slipping out of Shane’s lips as he dragged his fist over his cock, eyes screwed shut, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. 

“Fuck, Ry, I’m not gonna last long,” he said, and sure enough, his voice was strained, faint creases cut across his forehead, hand secured at the base, wiry hairs partially obscuring the ridge of his knuckles.

“Me neither,” Ryan groaned, arousal wound tight as a rubber band in his groin, a shivery ache radiating between his thighs, desire demanding and loud.

And for a moment, there was relative silence, nothing but slick sounds and soft pants filling the room. Ryan’s hand quivered where it slid down his length, beads of pre-come collecting at the head as the tight ring of his fist passed over it, the friction delicious and soothing the low ache between his legs. 

He moaned needily, bucking up into his fist, “Shane, _Shane—“_

“Yeah, Ry. Come on, baby, let go for me.”

And that was all the encouragement he needed before spilling into his hand, hot stripes of white splattering across his stomach and knuckles as he rutted against the chair through the aftershocks.  Shane was close behind, panting out Ryan’s name before releasing, shooting up towards his heaving chest, a thin rope landing just at the crook of his beard. Ryan’s dick gave a spent twitch at the sight, groaning as he collapsed into a boneless heap in the chair.

“Did we just—“

“Yeah,” Shane said. “I think we did.”

Ryan watched his baffled expression, following the gentle slant of his eyes to the curve of his cheek. His ears burned slightly, stifling a mildly horrified laugh.

“Uh, Shane. You kinda got, uh—“

He gestured nonsensically the the white stripe painter across his companion’s jaw, Shane’s hand following as he brushed his fingers over his beard, cringing slightly as it came away wet.

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan wheezed, folding over in his chair. “Quarantine, man.”

“Yeah,” Shane said smiling, pulling his finger out of his mouth with a pop,  “quarantine, _man.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Because it's a blessing, here's the link to the [Debatable episode on Shower Sex](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tu4oWHhSFtE)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr!](https://ryansunsolved.tumblr.com)


End file.
